Bitchin Ol' Boomer Babe (BOBB) uses today's technology to continue the age-old oral tradition of storytelling . . .
We also convey the wisdom and joy we gain through living our lives, with its beauty marks and moles.

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Wednesday, January 11, 2012

WISDOM Wednesday: “A Room of My Own?” Part One

This story was written by Malati Marlene Shinazy

“A Room of My Own?” Part One

In 1929, the writer Virginia Woolf published an extended essay entitled, “A Room of One’s Own.” Without digging too far into the actual content, philosophy or critique of this collection of lectures, the idea of having “A Room of One’s Own” in which to pursue one’s interests has taken some shape for many generations of women in our family. Many of the women in my grandmothers’ generation had a room of one’s own…

Each one of these women “owned” the kitchen. Make no doubt about it. When they were cooking, we stayed away… serious creative business, cooking. Only my grandfather and uncle, professional chefs in their own right, were allowed to peek into these castles of dominion. The commoners: kids, young moms and dads, had to stay away – far away. When the meal was prepared and ready for presentation, we were summoned.

One of my grandmothers was a potter, then a glazer, then a jewelry artist. On her land was not just a room of one’s own. She had an entire building dedicated to her artistic pursuits. It was called her pottery house: A little two room cottage, with plenty of windows, Dutch-doors on both ends, wheels, kilns, shelves of all sorts of potions – or so it seemed to me. I think they were actually chemicals she mixed to develop different glazes for her work. In her of jewelry making era, much of the equipment was re-purposed for creating molds for melting gold. This was more than a “room of one’s own.” This was an alchemist’s studio.

One of my female relatives had no need for a room of one’s own. What she did need, however, was closet space. Lots and lots of closet space for her lots and lots of dresses --- First, she filled the walk-in closet that covered the length of her master bedroom. Then, as each of her children left the nest, she swept in hawk-like and claimed their closet as her own. Comically, when she retired and had an entire home of her own, she still needed more closet space than the house could bear. I once measured 16-1/2 feet of additional over-the-door hangers for her clothes… Creativity seems to take many forms.

Granddad was a kid in the depression; he didn't like to throw things out. An array of odds and ends and bits and parts could be found among his shops, sheds, carts and work benches; all of it organized in recycled jars, tins, boxes crates and cans which sat on shelves or benches created from old doors and things. All of these things FIT. Created at different times and for completely unrelated purposes, the way he assembled them was such that Divine Providence had always meant these odd things to go together. Words cannot describe the level of organization he had; he actually knew what he had and where to find it. I'm sure my grandmother didn't much care for the preponderance of stuff he had. I miss him. People like that give me a sense of security - because they know what the hell they're doing. They can sort out gigantic messes and make sense of it all. These people put everything in its place and assign a place to every thing; but that saying doesn't accurately describe the symphony of organization that was my Granddad's place.

I suppose Wisdom of another time can seem more like eccentricity in our own. Perspective, no?